Her stomach twisted at the word. Mama didn’t like it spoken aloud, as if naming the disease would make the nightmare real.
The doctor had no such reservations. With today’s visit, he added an even more formidable word: leukemia. “Some cancers you can cut out, but leukemia is in the blood.” He raised his hands in surrender. “You can’t fight it.”
Abby tightened her fist and pressed it against her thigh. Maybe you won’t fight it, but I will. Somehow.
She continued her prayer, speaking as much to herself as to any higher power. “I—I don’t want to live here without her.” She picked at a piece of lace dangling loose from its stitching along the hem of her dress. “I don’t want to be alone.”
Abby gazed up through the tree limbs. When her eyes blurred, the branches looked like jagged cracks in the sky. Was God even listening? Why should He care about her wishes? She’d never wanted anything beyond her family and the orchard she loved. The peach and cherry trees were better friends than any schoolmate, standing forever faithful in their well-ordered rows. She’d tended them by her father’s side since she was old enough to hold the pruning shears. Papa promised someday they would belong to her. What more could she need?
The sound of footsteps crunching through the leaves stole the thought from her mind. She pulled her feet up to the limb and gripped the branch above her head to steady herself.
A man strolled through the orchard, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his gray twill pants, a dark jacket slung casually over one shoulder.
Abby bit her lip and leaned to the side for a better view. As she shifted her weight, the limb cracked, the sound echoing through the orchard. Abby grabbed the branch above her just as her perch gave way. Swinging awkwardly, she wrapped her ankles around the tree trunk.
“I’m okay,” she whispered, under her breath.
“Are you sure about that?” An amused voice floated up.
The man had removed his derby and looked up at her with eyes as brown as Aunt Mae’s irresistible chocolate fudge.
From her clumsy vantage point, Abby examined his strong jaw and pleasing smile. Of course—he’s handsome, and I’m hanging from a tree like a monkey.
“There’s a sturdy-looking branch just below you and to the left.”
Stretching out a foot, she groped for the limb with her toe. Locating it, Abby tucked her skirts tight around her legs before scurrying down.
The stranger reached up his hand to assist her on the last step to the earth. “I suppose I should apologize for frightening you.”
Abby plucked a twig from her apron. “You surprised me.” She regretted not taking time to fix her hair before leaving the house. Or put on a hat. What must he think?
A crooked smile crossed the man’s face. “Well, then we’re even, because no one ever told me girls grew on trees here in California. If I’d known, I might have gone into farming instead of medicine.” He slid his hands back into his pockets. “I certainly didn’t expect a beautiful woman to fall out of one.”
A wave of heat climbed Abby’s neck. “I didn’t fall out.” She straightened her skirt, annoyed to find this smooth-talking stranger waltzing through her family’s orchard. Beautiful, indeed. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Who are you, anyway?”
As he nodded, the light glinted off of his dark hair. “My name is Robert King—Dr. King. I’m Dr. Larkspur’s new assistant. Are you Miss Fischer?”
The breath caught in Abby’s throat. “Dr. Larkspur—you mean Gerald? He’s here?”
“Yes, we drove all night—”
“I’m sorry—I’ve got to go.” Abby grabbed up her skirts and raced back through the meadow toward the house, her braid bouncing against her back. Halfway across the field she realized her rudeness at leaving their guest in the orchard, but she pushed onward. Manners could wait.
Spotting an automobile in front of the house, surprise slowed her steps. Automobiles belonged to rich men. She’d never thought of her mother’s cousin in those terms.
With a fresh burst of speed, Abby pounded up the stairs onto the back porch, finishing her prayer in a rush. “God, I’ll do anything. I’ll be anything. Whatever You want—name it. Just make her better.”
As she grasped the doorknob, Abby paused to catch her breath. “And You’d better be listening God, because I’m going to make one last promise. If You dare take her away . . .”
She pulled the door open, casting one last glance toward the stranger in the orchard.
“. . . I’ll never speak to You again.”
Through the Shadows Page 31